I’m holed up in my room with a laptop, a 32 ounce bottle of orange Gatorade, and a body full of aches. It’s flu season and I have not escaped its wrath. Unfortunately, having the flu also means I’m quarantined from my toddler, which has been harder for me than battling this nasty bug. For the past two days, my husband has become our son’s primary care giver, giving me the chance to recuperate. I find myself torn between appreciation for the rest I’m getting and missing my little guy. Last night, my husband brought him into our bedroom to say hi. As soon as I saw him walk in, I knew it was a bad idea, but I wanted to see him so bad I was willing to deal with the tears. My son looked so big! How could he grow so much in one day? Perhaps it was the fever, but he looked so different from the night before when I had last seen him. We chatted a little bit, but when he tried to climb into bed with me we had to tell him no and I lost it. I started crying and he started crying, too. We were one big tear fest. My husband chuckled and picked up our son, who was now thrashing in an effort to get to me. My tears spilled over my cheeks. What a terrible thing to watch! I felt like I was watching my son being torn from my arms forever. Of course, I knew I could not let him get too close. I really don’t want him to go through this same flu. I’m just hoping and praying that he doesn’t catch it! I’m so grateful for these two days I’ve been given to get better, but I seriously cannot wait to wake up tomorrow morning and hug the sillies out of my toddler.